


All I Ever Wanted

by MinilocIsland



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Meditation, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Silence, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland
Summary: Isak is such a good friend. Probably the best there is.How else could he explain that he's agreed to join Magnus to this place deep in the woods for six full days of silence, meditation, and utter boredom?One thing, he knows. There's nothing exciting for him there. Right?Or: the silent retreat AU.





	All I Ever Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a completely silly idea that barged into my head and refused to leave me alone until I'd written it, and since Isak and Even still own my heart as well as my brain - what could I do?
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [vesperthine](https://www.vesperthine.tumblr.com) who made this a million times better, as usual - thank you, darling! <3
> 
> Title from "Enjoy the silence" by Depeche Mode (because how could I not?)
> 
> Hope you'll all like it!

God only knows why Isak agreed to subject himself to this.

Okay, he knows perfectly why. It was, as usual, for Magnus’ sake.

If Isak wasn’t such a good friend, willing to sacrifice his own comfort and well-being for almost an entire week, he wouldn’t be here. On his way deep into a godforsaken forest in the backseat of some stranger’s car.

A stranger who by the looks of it should be called Thorleif, Haakon, or maybe Hans-Petter. But as the guy had stepped out of the car at the train station in Nordagutu where he’d waited to pick them up, he’d stretched out his hand and – of course – introduced himself as Shakti Rahwana.

A stark contrast to his bright blue jogging shoes and navy green gore-tex jacket, to say the least.

“Remember,” Shakti (or is it Rahwana?) says, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick, “once we reach the center, there’s no talking. At all. So I’ll tell you all you need to know before we get there.”

Right. Like Isak would have forgotten.

Ever since Magnus’ devastating break-up with Vilde six months ago, Isak has done his best to cry with him, bring him pizza, and get him shitfaced to forget all his worries (only to have them come back full force next morning). He’s even downloaded the Tinder app to Magnus’ phone – to no avail, because there’s no one like _Vilde_ anyway – but this? This must be the ultimate display of friendship – joining him for a six-day retreat, far away from home.

A _silent_ retreat.

It was, of course, Magnus’ idea to begin with. He’d heard about this place from Iben, who'd been off to some ayahuasca weekend in the south of Sweden in hopes of getting insanely high and hallucinate away for a couple of days.

When she returned to work the following Monday, though – these are all Magnus’ words – she’d _glowed._ Not in that summery, tanned way – but like she was somehow illuminated from the inside. She’d had no real high from he drug. Not as she’d expected, anyway. More like there’d suddenly been a row of insights piled up in front of her. As if she’d been looking straight into her own soul.

After that, she’d taken to meditating every day at the local zen buddhist center with some guy that she’d done the ayahuasca with. And then, after a while, gone off to a silent week just like this. In this very place, even.

Six days in a house in the forest. In complete and utter silence. No distractions. No phones. No talking.

Just you and your thoughts. And wasn’t that the most _amazing_ thing, Isak, Magnus had rambled, the best of all: she’d made _peace with her past._

Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

First, Magnus had tried to talk him into doing the ayahuasca thing. That had been the straw , though; Isak had set his foot down right away. He’d like to keep his brain cells somewhat intact, please.

About this retreat, though, Magnus wouldn’t budge. And finally, Isak’d caved.

It’s not like he’s going to _enjoy_ it, though. He’s being a good friend, that's all.

Probably the best there is.

“There’s four others there already,” Shakti continues. “Came with the two o’clock train from the south. They’re wearing name tags, so you’ll know who they are – everybody does the first day. I think yours are in the glove compartment –” he leans over Magnus’ legs to open it, causing the car to swerve close to the side of the gravel road “– yeah, here, put them on. Of course, names are nothing in the bigger picture of cosmos, but, well, people asked for it, so…”

Isak has to remind himself to look out the window before he rolls his eyes.

For Magnus’ sake.

“Oh, and I forgot!” Shakti slams his palm to his forehead. “I’m really really sorry about this, but there will be a latecomer tomorrow night. Had something important he couldn’t miss, and – we usually don’t allow people to join after the group has formed, but…”

He turns to Isak, eyes open, nut brown, with true regret. “I do hope you’ll be okay with that. It’s not what we encourage, normally. You know, it does disturb the energies forming between you.”

Isak bites his lip, trying to keep a straight face. “Yeah. I – I guess it’s okay.”

The worst part is, he can’t even trust Magnus to laugh with him about it all when they get there. Not only because they’re technically not even _supposed_ to laugh – at least not out loud – for the upcoming six days. But also because Mags has had such faith in this upcoming week ever since he heard about it. Isak just can’t take that away from him.

Not that he knows what true heartbreak is like. Sure, last year’s breakup with Andreas hadn’t been fun, and they’d dated for almost two years, but – it’s not like it broke his heart. It had been a nice couple of years, but truth be told, Isak was kind of relieved when Andreas announced that he was moving to Copenhagen. Saving him from a lot of worry about if he should sell his apartment and move in together. If they should get that dog Andreas had wanted for years, and if they should get engaged now that they’d dated for a respectable amount of time.

It’s not like it’s compulsory because you’ve turned twenty-five.

But the hope, the longing for release and salvation in Magnus’ eyes when he started nagging about this retreat for the twentieth time, was what made Isak give in. And now he’s here. Trying his best not to roll his eyes again as they pull up on the driveway in front of the red wooden house surrounded by birch trees, a small lake visible between the yellowing leaves in the afternoon sun.

“Oh yeah,” Shakti says, “before we get out there, I need you to sign this, and this.” He hands them a folded white A4 and a plastic ballpoint pen each.

Isak eyes the sheet with a rapidly mounting dejection. _I commit to stay silent and not speak a word to anybody until this retreat is finished. I commit to remain on the premises of the retreat. I commit to leave the other participants in peace and not initiate physical contact of any sort unless warranted._

Biting his tongue, he signs and hands Shakti the paper. It’s only six days, after all. How hard can it be?

Opening the back door, he’s just about to shout at Magnus to get a move on when he feels Shakti’s eyes on him across the top of the car.

Right. Silence.

 

* * *

 

The house is at least a hundred years old, but refurbished sometime in the 80’s. Maybe the early 90’s. Impersonal, light wooden panels on the walls, a large kitchen with white cupboards, cheap door handles and plastic floor. Two small conference rooms with office chairs assembled around worn-down white tables. The only part of the house that’s somewhat fresh-looking is the showers – an open area with three doorless cubicles, clad in small ocean-green mosaic tiles all the way up to the ceiling, where small window-like openings lets the sound of their steps echo out into the corridor.

In the car, Shakti had explained that they didn’t encourage people to use the showers – apparently, swimming in the lake offers a much closer connection to nature. But, this is at least a place that somewhat reminds Isak of his everyday life at home.

Thankfully, they’re at least allowed to eat inside. The soft tinkle of a bell announces dinner, drawing the other participants into the main room. Two hippie-looking girls in their early twenties, Leyla and Alina, according to their name tags enter. They’re both looking the cliché with stylish, thin dreads and striped baggy cotton pants. An olive-skinned, tattooed, muscular guy, Peter, in a slim white t-shirt with sad, deep-set puppy eyes. And Henriette, a grey-haired, thin woman in her sixties wearing a serene smile and with kind wrinkles around her eyes, holding her palms together in front of her chest in silent greeting.

Wooden bowls filled with lentil soup are passed around in silence, and the clatter of spoons and glasses echoes over the hardwood floor as they eat. It’s one of the strangest dinners Isak ever sat through. At the same time, however, it’s oddly comforting to not be forced to small talk.

However much he’d been convinced he’d hate it here, he can’t help but feel an unexpected peace of mind as he exits the house after dinner, grey ceramic mug filled with green tea in his hand.

The sun is on its way down, golden pink rays falling between the white birch stems as he makes his way to the little lake. Somehow, he didn’t feel like he had to wait for Magnus to follow him. Like this concerns only him and him alone.

The lake is quiet, surface smooth, only the occasional ripple in the still evening air. Suddenly, there’s a rush of something indefinable inside him, a longing for a distant, unclear goal that makes his heart clench.

And afterwards; a stillness.

He sits by the shoreline until darkness falls, the mug of tea cold in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Silence, it seems, is a relative concept here.

At least at night.

Magnus’ heavy snores beside him can only compare to Peter’s a couple of meters away. Isak can swear the floor vibrates under his sleeping mat, travelling up through his sleeping bag and into his brain.

Like he doesn’t have enough trouble falling asleep.

Initially, he’d believed that they at least would be allowed to sleep in some sort of solitude. Walking around the house this afternoon, he’d just assumed that there were bedrooms hidden away somewhere. But, apparently, that’s not necessary at this kind of events.

So, here they are, all six of them, huddled up in their sleeping bags like little cocoons, spread out in a sunflower pattern in the middle of the common room floor.

He can at least stretch out a hand and poke Magnus in the side until he stops snoring and shifts a little. Push at his shoulder until he gets the hint and rolls over, breathing turning uneven until it steadies and becomes slower again.

He doesn’t dare wake Peter up, though. What if he makes him wake up and doesn’t know where he is, and _speaks?_ It would be Isak’s fault if Peter violated the agreement, and he wouldn’t dare make such a fool of himself on the first night.

Instead he keeps still, counting the white-glazed planks in the ceiling, back and forth and back again, until dawn starts to seep in through the thin white curtains.

 

* * *

 

The funny thing about keeping quiet for longer than a few hours is that it gets to your head in an unexpected way.

Isak doesn’t mind keeping his mouth shut when waking up, during breakfast, or even the first two or three hours of the second day. But come lunchtime, an itch has started forming under his skin. Thoughts he’d normally express, out loud to a co-worker, or in a text message or dm, now curl up in his face, obstruct his field of view, and start to turn inward.

He’s beginning to really get that introspective part of this.

Naturally, Isak didn’t come unprepared to an event like this. As best as he could, he’d googled _silent retreats_ while still at home, trying to find out what to expect. There wasn’t much actual research to find, of course, forcing him to rely on the witness of others.

Unreliable sources, it seems, because every single piece he’d read described retreats such as this as a sort of cleansing experience. Leaving your head clear, void of all unnecessary things. Judging from the comments he’d seen, it had sounded like the best days of everyone's life.

They had, however, all been quite vague on the subject.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t expect it to be quite _this_ weird.

Without any kind of stimulation from the outside, except for the rustle of leaves outside the window, the soft drags of sock-clad feet on the floor, his mind has started coming up with stuff on its own. Thoughts of the past he’d rather keep buried. Fears for the future, kept numbed by the things he busies himself with during the days.

He frowns at himself, at how he sat in stillness by the lake last night. _Peace._ Right.

This is a little more peace than what he bargained for.

Less than twenty-four hours have passed since his arrival, and he’s already considering giving up. No matter what Magnus would say, or how much he’s paid to be here for almost an entire week. Isak’s seriously beginning to doubt that he’ll make it for even ten more minutes.

Sitting on the floor of the dining room slash sleeping hall, now turned meditation space for an hour or so, he takes a look around.

The afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows hasn’t stopped the meditation leader, a peaceful-looking red-haired woman in her fifties, from placing incense and candles all around the room. The patchouli scent surrounds him from all sides, tickling the inside of his nose, making him lift his hand to try to scratch it away every few seconds.

The others sitting around him show no display of discomfort, nothing of the restlessness picking at his limbs. Eyes closed, hands on their knees, they all look… peaceful. Even Magnus’ face looks relaxed, jaw a little slack, a perfect imitation of his most dumbstruck expression.

Isak closes his eyes again, trying to remember what that zen website had told him about meditation. _Sit in a comfortable position. Focus on your breathing. Remain passive. Let the thoughts come and go._

The hard part is, right now most of his thoughts revolve around something along the lines of _how do I get out of here._

He glances up towards the meditation leader, who's sitting cross-legged on the small podium by the far wall. Her eyes are open, and she looks at Isak with a neutral expression, hard to read, but not unkind.

Yeah, yeah. _What you’ll gain from this experience is completely up to you,_ the retreat website had said. Right now, though, he’s pretty convinced that this sort of thing is, well, just not his _thing._

He can only hope she doesn’t judge him too much as he rises to his feet. With as little noise as possible, he tiptoes between Magnus and one of the hippie girls and out into the corridor.

The crisp autumn air hitting his face as he opens the front door is a small relief, even if it's not enough. He stops on the porch, hoping for the antsiness to dissipate with the light wind. Not for the first time that day, he pats his jeans pockets. Forgetting once again that his phone is very much not there, but buried in the depths of his duffel bag stowed away in a corner inside.

Besides, he’s not up for breaking the rules in such a blatant manner. He just needs to breathe for a bit.

What wouldn’t he give for a distraction of some kind. For some _noise._

As if someone somewhere could read his thoughts, the murmur of the soft wind through the trees is interrupted by the sound of crackling gravel. Of a car engine on low speed.

He watches from the porch as Shakti’s car emerges from between the trees and pulls up in front of him. The door on the driver’s side opens, and then, on the passenger’s side.

And if this isn’t the highest form of irony and torture, Isak doesn’t know what is.

The man unfolding himself from behind the door is tall, even taller than Isak himself. His perfect dark blonde hair falls haphazardly over his forehead, and down over a face so perfect that Isak doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to look. He’s slim, borderline lanky, but his shoulders make up for it, squared under a wine red hoodie that’s open down the front over a plain white t-shirt. His jeans stick to his legs that seem to go on and on and even further on as he rises up to his full height, and steps out from behind the open car door, bag slung over his shoulder.

The guy lifts his gaze from the ground to look up at Isak who remains standing on the porch, unable to move a limb.

His eyes are so _blue._ For a short while, their eyes meet, and it’s like falling into a deep pit. A pit of infinite longing and, to put it that way, pure hotness.

Isak realizes he must have been staring at him for a good ten seconds, probably more, before he jerks his gaze away to look at the small piece of paper fastened on the left of the guy’s chest.

_Even._

In a perfect mirroring of Isak’s rookie behaviour the day before, Even stretches out his hand as if to greet him. He opens his mouth, and then closes it with an almost bashful smile.

It’s so endearing that Isak feels his legs go weak. He wants to know everything there is about this Even. Why is he here? Where is he from? What is his full name?

Most of all, he’d like to press him up against the wall right here and now and have his way with him.

Too bad there’s a contract, and all that.

Their eyes meet again as Even takes a few steps toward the porch, making Isak step aside to let him in. Even’s head turns to keep the stare as he walks up to the door. His gaze flickers down to Isak’s chest, and there’s a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. And then, just like that, he’s disappeared inside.

Isak looks down at his own t-shirt. Is there a sauce stain on it or something?

His fingers skim the fabric, only for him to realize that he took a clean shirt from his bag this morning, meaning there’s no name tag there.

Perhaps it’s for the best to go inside and put it on. It would be kind of rude not to introduce himself, after all.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is, to no one’s surprise, a quiet affair.

That doesn’t mean it’s uneventful.

Even sits across from Isak, legs so long that their knees keep bumping into each other under the table, away from everyone else’s view. Isak tries to keep the rules in mind. _No unsolicited touching._ This would, under most circumstances, not count as such.

It’s not like he’s getting any _ideas._

Like yesterday, there are a lot of smiles and kind nods as bowls and spoons are passed around. Even makes no exception. He looks everyone in the eye, like he _sees_ them, holding their gaze a little longer than the others do. Like he could get to know them through eye contact alone.

Part of Isak wants to roll his eyes at the not so subtle effort - but another small part of him can’t help but wonder if Even’s going to look at _him_ in that attentive way.

It also makes him suspect that Even might have been to a retreat like this before. He seems to fit in with ease, relaxed, like he's happy to be here.

Once more, Isak glances up at Even, who’s just about to hand him a bowl of soup across the table. As their fingertips brush, Isak sees Even’s arm stiffen and go still. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so focused on Even’s every move – but in an instant, his eyes dart up to Isak’s, serene expression gone. His gaze is darker, a little tense, and Isak wants to take the wooden bowl in both hands and beat himself with force over the head.

So, now he’s gone and made Even uncomfortable in his presence by staring at him like a circus animal or something.

He lowers his head, trying to withdraw his legs further, careful not to look at Even for the rest of the meal.

 

* * *

 

It’s not like he expected to fall asleep without effort on the second night either.

Tonight, though, he’s not the only one awake.

Magnus and Peter are snoring as loudly as ever, challenged only by Henriette, lying on her back, mouth open, hair spilling out like a sun on the floor.

However, it’s obvious from the repeated rustling of Even’s sleeping bag that he’s not asleep. Back turned towards Isak, he lies still for the most part, but his shoulders shift now and then. As if he’s trying to find a more comfortable position, breathing erratically.

At least, right now, Isak can let himself look.

Not that there’s a lot of Even that is visible – only the back of his head. Small tufts of hair wind their way down his neck, and part of a t-shirt-clad shoulder peeks out from underneath the sleeping bag.

The only light comes from the windows, moonlight faint through the white, thin curtains. In the dusk, Even’s hair looks almost dark.

He shifts again, and Isak barely has time to close his eyes and pretend to be asleep as he hears Even roll over to his other side to face him. For a long while, he doesn’t dare move, even less open his eyes.

He forces himself to lie still for what feels like hours, until his body catches on and finally lets him drift off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Next morning’s meditation session isn’t any more successful than the day before.

Not that Isak had expected to find his peace of mind today either. And it’s not that he’s restless, exactly.

More like, distracted.

If his gaze could burn a hole through the back of Even’s head, it would probably have done so by now. He’s seated right in front of Isak, head bent forward, making the top vertebrae of his spine stand out through the white fabric of his t-shirt.

Isak dares a glance around, just to see if anyone else is faking it like he does. Everyone is in the same position as Even; eyes closed, looking to be deep in concentration. Nobody’s moving; they’re all breathing steadily, most likely focusing on this very moment as instructed.

Isak wishes he could do the same.

Right now, though, he’s otherwise occupied.

Busy trying to imagine what Even’s voice sounds like. If it matches his appearance. He thinks of it as mid-pitched, kind, calm. Perhaps Even talks slowly, thoughtfully, dragging out the words to consider each of them with care.

Or, what if his voice doesn’t suit him at all? If it’s high-pitched, whiny, grating?

His eyes flicker to the meditation leader. She watches him with a more worried expression than yesterday, almost disappointed, and he’s quick to close his eyes. Nothing to stop his thoughts from running wild over the inside of his eyelids, he suddenly knows how he wishes for Even’s voice to sound like.

To be deep, dark. Almost musical. Maybe, if they’d laugh together, if Even perhaps would tease him, it would turn into a giggle, before it’d drop again, down to the lower registers.

Isak can only imagine what the rumble of that deep voice would sound like if he’d put his ear to Even’s chest. How he’d hear it reverberating inside Even’s rib cage, surrounding him.

How the skin on his chest would feel against his ear, his cheek, if he’d lay his head down on top of Even.

He’s sure it would be smooth, silky, warm. Kind of how the soft slope of his neck looks to touch.

And well, before today, he’d also been pretty sure that meditation usually didn’t involve boners.

But, as it happens, here he is, pants starting to feel tight from thinking about an unknown guy’s unknown _voice,_ and a piece of skin he hasn’t even seen.

If he didn’t have to at least try to sit still, he’d hit himself over the head with one of the candles at his side. What is he even _doing?_

Didn’t he actually feel like something good might come out of this week on the first night? Like he actually could, what was it Magnus had said, _make peace with his past?_

He should try to find his way back there, to that mindset. Instead of plaguing himself with thoughts of something he’s likely to never have.

He doesn’t even know the first thing about Even. They haven’t spoken a single word to each other, after all.

To begin with, there’s a pretty fair chance that he’s straight, and therefore not interested. For all Isak knows, he might be a homophobe.

And, even if there’s a remote chance that Even could actually like him back, how would they even be able to get together here? There’s nowhere to go undisturbed. Everybody's sleeping in the big hall, and people are wandering around the house and the woods surrounding it at all times. They wouldn’t even be able to say two words to each other without being noticed.

And, even _that’s_ not supposed to happen.

Anyway, Even probably lives way too far from Oslo to make anything work out between them in the long run. Trondheim, or something like that. Or worse, somewhere deep in the forest or out in the countryside, like this place. Yeah, that’s the most likely –

And wait.

What is this – this thing he’s doing? Is he for _real,_ sitting here, planning out their possible future in his head, after having met this guy only yesterday. Without even hearing him utter a single _word?_

He rolls his eyes at himself behind his eyelids.

Why can’t he _stop._

The soft drag of sock-clad feet and the cracking of limbs is what finally snaps him out of his stupor. Meditation session seems to be over, at least.

He opens his eyes, gaze once again falling straight onto Even. He can’t help but let it linger on how the bright light from the window falls across his back, lining the ridges of his shoulder blades through the t-shirt. As it travels up Even’s neck to try to make out the vertebrae leading up into his hair, Even turns and looks straight at him.

_Fuck._ He doesn’t have time to avert his eyes, or even close them shut. He’s just looking back, dumbfounded, not knowing where to put his hands or how to look away.

It must be obvious to Even that he’s been sitting here ogling him for the longest time, and heat rises to his cheeks. Didn’t Even already show how uncomfortable he felt under Isak’s stare at dinner yesterday?

But if he’d expected Even to look down, to turn away from him, he’d been wrong. Instead, Even’s eyes glitter, and the corner of his mouth turns upward in a smile that borders on amused.

He looks so breathtaking like this that Isak can’t tear his eyes away. God, he’s definitely making a fool of himself now.

Even holds the stare as he rises to his feet, Isak following him with his gaze until Even is standing upright. Towering over Isak who’s still on his knees, face turned upward and it strikes him that from the outside, he must look like he’s _begging._

Even seems to find the whole thing pretty funny as well, because he raises his eyebrows and smiles a little wider. Isak sits there frozen, unable to move. Until Even shrugs his shoulders, sticks his hands in his jeans pockets and walks away. Into the corridor and out of sight.

It’s not until Even’s gone that Isak looks around, and notices that he’s alone.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t see much of Even for the rest of the third day, and maybe that’s just as well.

It’s like Even is a magnet, drawing his gaze whenever he’s in the room. And, to the laws of physics, Isak can’t do anything but comply.

It’s more annoying than anything – at least right now, as he’s once again lying on the floor, trying to find enough peace to fall asleep.

In a mirroring of yesterday, he can see the back of Even’s head sticking out of his sleeping bag. Hair a messy mop on his pillow, a few strands sticking up around his ears.

He looks peaceful like this, no movement giving away if he’s awake, like he was last night, or not.

Isak wonders if he’s dreaming. What he’s dreaming of. Of a girlfriend? Or boyfriend. His job, perhaps? Wonder what he’s doing for a living?

Probably something that makes other people happy. Something that’s fulfilling both to others, as well as to Even himself. He can’t imagine him doing anything meaningless and repetitive. Something that doesn’t make him feel as alive as he looks.

He could be a teacher. In high school, perhaps. Isak’s sure he’d have a wise word for everyone, exuding trust, reliability, warmth.

Or, like, a social worker. A psychologist?

Isak can only imagine what it would feel like, sitting across from Even in small office, in comfortable chairs. Telling him of his worries, of his troubles, with Even listening, giving him his full attention. His gaze focused on Isak’s, chin dipping as he’d nod his head in agreement. And maybe, if Isak would make a heartfelt confession, Even would put a hand on his shoulder in comfort. His large, warm hand.

The thought itself is oddly calming, if not enough to lull him to sleep.

At least, this night, he falls asleep before dawn.

 

* * *

 

Next morning sees the beginning of the fourth day, and Isak wakes with a worn-out sort of restlessness in his bones. As if he has slept for ages, and and the same time not at all.

Like his skin is too tight and at the same time loose, leaving his true self shriveled up inside, voider than normal of thoughts, of feelings.

Like he needs to shake himself out of this stupor he’s been in ever since the second morning.

Since he saw Even the first time.

Sitting down with the others for breakfast feels unbearable right now. He needs to get out of here, try to shake the antsiness somehow. Most of all, he’d like to change out of his own body. To be cleansed, absolved of these never-ending mind loops he can’t pull himself out of.

That very thought gives him an idea.

And that’s how he finds himself following the path down to the water, swim trunks on, towel in hand, only five minutes later.

Going swimming in a cold lake at five in the morning isn’t something he’d seen himself do only a few days ago, but, apparently, these events inspire change.

The sun’s about to rise from behind the treetops at the other side of the lake. The earth is cold under the soles of his naked feet, the occasional pine needle sharp against his still sleep-warm toes.

As he rounds a bush to take the final steps down to the waterline, there’s a soft splash below, small waves lapping against the alder roots. And then, a short while later, a few meters further out in the lake, a head emerges. Followed by naked shoulders, and the long, pale expanse of Even’s back as he rises up to stand.

Isak stops in his tracks, not sure if he should make his presence known or if he should turn back. In the end, he does nothing, but remains standing there, unable to tear his eyes away.

The water reaches up to Even’s hips, below the very end of his lower back, and it’s evident that he’s not wearing anything at all. Even in the dusky morning light, Isak can see the muscles flex underneath his skin as he lifts his hands to wipe the wet hair from his face, shoulders looking broader with the movement.

Even turns, half-way, and raises his face towards the morning’s first sunbeams streaming down from above the treeline. His profile sharp, illuminated in gold and dark pink.

Isak hasn’t seen anything like it in his whole life.

A quick step backwards, and Isak’s shielded himself from view behind the bush. He should leave, he really should. But even if he’s intruding, even if there’s no reason to peek at anyone like this, it’s impossible not to look.

Even’s whole upper body is glistening in the morning light, water dripping from his chin and running down his chest, down his long, slender arms. He’s too far away for Isak to be able to see, but he can only imagine drops forming in his belly button, trickling down the trail of soft hair further down.

Isak can’t breathe. The air has been punched from his lungs, all blood has rushed down from his head and his throat to pool in his lower belly, has him stunned. Mesmerized by the sight of this Even, and by the intimacy of the moment.

Frozen to the ground, he watches as Even turns towards him, thin hips moving as if he’s preparing to get out of the water.

Just as he’s convinced that he must have been spotted, Even turns again, looking out over the lake. And in a heartbeat, he’s dived down under the surface once more.

The splash jerks Isak out of his stupor, and he steps backwards up the path, eyes on the water the whole time, before he’s sure he’s out of sight. Then, he turns, and breaks into a run.

When he reaches the house, he steps inside and stops for a moment to collect himself.

What is he even doing?

He shouldn’t have stayed. What if someone would have stood like that, ogling _him_ as he was swimming, naked, thinking that he had the whole lake to himself? Convinced that everyone else was busy with breakfast?

He’d found it more than creepy, for sure.

However, deep down, he knows there’s no use in lying to himself. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if it had been Even.

 

* * *

 

Another thing he didn’t expect from this week was how unimportant, how useless the slow pace of these days would make him feel.

Of course, when he’s at home with nothing else to do, his favourite pastime might be to lie around on the couch doing nothing. But that’s usually after a long day of work. He’s not used to having no specific task to fulfill during the day besides _existing._

Here, he’s… nothing. No use to anyone. No one asks anything of him, or talks to him, or needs his help.

It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy his own company – his ambivert self has come to terms with as much – but this? It’s like he’s an island. No bridges connecting him to others.

Not even Magnus seems to be with him in this. On the contrary, he seems to have embraced the concept to the fullest. Most of the times that Isak looks over at him at meals, or when they sit around the common room, his eyes are half-closed, lips mouthing soundless words to himself. Not too surprising, he’s had the same faith in this retreat to piece him back together as he’s had in those boxing classes. In that self-help book about positive thinking he was carrying around for a couple of weeks. Or in that Ibiza trip he took with Mahdi over Easter.

Even if Isak tried, though, he couldn’t be angry at Magnus. How could he not grant him the chance of finally finding some peace of mind?

Too bad there doesn’t seem to be any such thing for him here.

So, the afternoon of the fourth day finds him tramping around the lake for the fifteenth time in a row, fruitlessly trying to work off the prickling in his bones. Because, even if his legs are starting to feel tired, it’s still not enough.

Is it true, what the website had said? That the modern human brain is so used to constant stimulation from work, from smartphones, from the constant interaction with other human beings, that it runs wild at first when coming here, before being able to settle down?

He’s still waiting for that calm, that enlightenment to come across to him.

As he’s nearing the start of the trail again, the red planks of the house become visible between the tree trunks. Kicking a few yellowing leaves from the ground, he debates if he should walk yet another lap. The lake isn’t large, the path no more than a kilometer, but dusk is approaching, and maybe getting lost in the woods isn’t the best of ideas.

For a second, the fleeting thought that _if I did at least something exciting would happen_ crosses his mind, but he decidedly brushes it off. This is not the place to be childish.

The last part of the path winds through a thick grove of birch saplings, growing so close together that none of them has been given the room to become tall. Instead, they have stretched their branches across the path in search of sunlight. Nobody seem to have taken it upon themselves to keep the path clear, and as a consequence, it’s so overgrown that only one person can walk through at a time.

He looks up, trying to assess what time it might be from how dark the sky is, when his toes catch on a root, making him stumble. Even the earth itself seems to be working against him.

Sighing, he starts walking again. And then, he spots someone coming towards him on the path.

Even in the settling dusk, it’s easy to make out Even’s long, lanky profile between the trees. He’s wearing the same burgundy-red hoodie as he did when he arrived, open down the front. It's obvious that he hasn’t spotted Isak yet, eyes on the ground in front of him. As he raises his hand to brush a leaf-clad branch to the side, he looks up, and their eyes meet.

Even’s mouth forms to a surprised “o”, and he stops in his tracks.

If he wants to pass, Isak has to either dissolve into thin air, or walk back at least fifty meters. The same goes for Even.

Isak is about to turn around and start walking in the opposite direction, when Even does the just the same, and they both smile. Even looks a little sheepish at first, but then the smile spreads across his whole face. Making his eyes crinkle at the corners. His tongue peeking out a little between his pointy, perfect teeth.

They both stand there, unmoving, waiting for the other to make a move. After a while, the smile weakens on Even’s face, his whole expression softening. He makes no effort to get out of the way, though.

Isak should turn around, leave Even be, let him decide if he wants to follow him along around the lake or go back. But he can’t seem to move his feet.

No less tear his gaze away from Even’s.

Even’s eyes are serious now, and Isak can’t tell if it’s the settling dusk or if it’s something else that makes them look darker by the second. His lips are parted, and his breathing is a little quicker than before.

He probably looks ridiculous standing here, staring at another guy he barely knows in the middle of the forest. But at the same time, there’s no place he’d rather be.The restless buzzing under his skin is turning into something else. Instead of unsettling, it feels enticing, enthralling, a sense of anticipation running through him.

They’re no more than a meter apart now. Did they stand this close from the beginning? Isak has no idea.

All he knows is that Even doesn’t turn around, doesn’t start walking away. Instead, he takes a step forward.

Coming even closer.

Isak’s breath hitches in his throat as Even takes another small step, the distance between them decreasing even more. Even’s face is so close now, that if Isak was to take another step of his own, their noses would be touching.

In the periphery of his vision, Even starts to move his legs once more.

A loud crack behind him makes them both jump away from each other.

Isak turns, and there comes – of _course_ – Magnus, stepping away from a dry branch lying across the path, eyes on the ground.

He doesn’t seem to have spotted them yet, meaning Isak can still keep this to himself.

Whatever _this_ was.

As Magnus approaches, he looks up at Isak, recognition dawning on his face, and Isak tries his best to smile back.

He should be glad to run into his best friend like this. Right now, though, he mostly feels like he's been robbed of something.

He turns his head to look at Even, but he’s already started walking in the opposite direction.

With his eyes on Even’s retreating back, he can’t do much else than follow.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is already served as they enter the house, three chairs available at the end of the table. Magnus goes first, sitting down at the corner. That leaves the chairs opposite each other for Isak and Even.

Again, sitting across from each other without letting their knees touch is a challenge.

This time, it’s beginning to drive Isak crazy.

Every time they bump into each other, small zaps of electricity run down his legs to his feet, and up along his thighs.

Even seems focused on eating, eyes on the bowl in his hand, almost like he’s not looking up on purpose. Unlike during earlier meals, he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. No casual smiles, no nods, no interactions.

Nothing besides the occasional touching of knees under the table, away from everyone’s sight.

If it wasn’t for what happened in the forest a little while earlier, Isak would maybe have written Even’s behaviour off as focused, introspective. Or as a side effect from being silent for so long. Now, though, he can’t help but think _he_ is the reason for this.

That something has changed.

Something between them that makes the air lie heavy over the wooden table. Something that draws Isak’s gaze to Even’s hands every time he lifts his spoon to his mouth.

His hands. Those long, slender fingers, so slim that the his knuckles stand out a little to the side, but still strong.

He can’t let himself think about what those fingers could be capable of doing, or he’ll faint right here and now at the table.

So, he looks down into his own bowl. Aiming for the zen, he tries to focus on the texture of the tomato soup remaining at the bottom. The rich smell. The bright red colour. The sharp edge of the crust covering the bread in his hand.

He’s beginning to get the hang of it when he feels a knee brush against his own, sending a shock through the whole of his leg. Maybe because he’d focused on something else than Even for a change, he jumps. Drops the bowl onto the table and spills its contents all over himself.

Just as he opens his mouth to blurt out something along the lines of _what the fuck,_  there’s a foot nudging his own. He looks up and sees Even stare straight at him, a sheepish smile on his face, silently mouthing the word _sorry,_ glancing down at Isak’s ruined shirt.

Isak sighs. Good thing he isn’t that hungry, after all.

As he rises from his chair and goes to pick up a clean shirt from his bag in the corner, he can feel Even’s eyes on him. Can see him turn his head in the corner of his eye as he exits and heads for the bathrooms, clean shirt in hand.

 

* * *

 

After he’s changed, there’s only time for a quick meditation session in the now-dark common room before it’s bedtime again.

Fourth night in, he’s kind of getting the hang of this sleeping routine now.

Lying in his sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling. Staring to his right side, to the windows, faint moonlight falling in, the shadows of leaves moving in the wind dancing on the hardwood floor.

Staring up into the ceiling again, counting the knots in the planks, left to right, back and forth. Turning over onto his left, seeing Magnus lie there, on his back, chest rising and falling with his breaths. And on the other side of Magnus, Even.

Even, with his back turned against him, lying dead still and silent. As usual, his sleeping bag is pulled up underneath his arms, the top of his shoulderbone visible under the thin t-shirt.

Suddenly, the only thing on Isak’s mind is how his shoulderbone looked this morning, with nothing but droplets of water covering it. Even’s spine, rising out of the water, perfect and long and inviting.

He can only imagine what it would feel like to run his hand over it.

To follow the vertebrae up to his neck, to comb his fingers through his hair.

To let his hand slide along the slope of his shoulders, down his smooth, pale side. Across his lower back.

And even further down, over what he only caught a glimpse of this morning, but what he’s sure must be as perfect as the rest of Even. It’s almost like he can feel his own hand slide over the top of Even’s ass, and around it, down to the inside of his thighs. Over the soft, downy hairs he’s sure to have there, coarser further down on his legs. And even coarser up front, around his dick.

_God._ He’s definitely venturing into forbidden territory now, but he can’t resist wondering what Even’s dick looks like. If it’s long and slim, like the rest of him.

And, well, there’s no way he’s getting any sleep now.

Blood pulsing down between his legs, head spinning a little even as he’s lying down, he closes his eyes. And it’s not his fault that he imagines it’s Even’s skin he’s touching when his hand slides across his own stomach.

His sleeping bag rustles a little, and he looks up around him. Everybody seem to be fast asleep still. Nobody moves, deep breaths and the occasional snore the only other sounds in the room.

He knows his own breathing gets heavier as he lets his hand find his way down inside his boxers. Would it be so bad to touch himself just a little? If nobody notices, what’s the harm?

He hadn’t counted on the strangled moan that escapes his lips as he puts his hand around his dick. After keeping quiet for almost four whole days, his voice is rougher than ever before. The sound of it like a jagged knife cutting through cardboard in the silent room.

He senses, more than he sees, a movement to his left. Flinging his eyes open, he jerks his head to the side.

Even’s eyes gleam in the moonlight. Stare at him.

Unmoving, unwavering, not even pretending to look away.

Isak holds his breath, not moving a limb, dick hard as a rock underneath his fingers, screaming for attention, for more.

But the only thing moving is his heart, trying to stomp its way out of his ribcage. Beating so loud that he’s sure Even must be able to hear it, even from a couple of meters away.

Their eyes hold steady, and now Isak has been staring long enough that it’s no use to pretend.

To pretend that he doesn’t see Even’s lips part, like he’s breathing through his mouth.

His heavy-lidded eyes. The tip of his tongue between his front teeth.

That there’s a movement under the fabric of his sleeping bag, like he’s moving his arm to his front.

Body taut like a bowstring, Isak draws a quick breath, and holds it.

And then, Magnus draws a deep sigh, throwing an arm up above his head and turning to his side, blocking Even from view.

Not daring to move even a finger, Isak tries to regain control over himself. Tries to breathe through his nose, in and out. Jesus fucking Christ. What was he even thinking.

There’s only silence now, nothing to indicate that Even might still be awake. He can’t see him anymore, Magnus’ sleep-heavy body in the way, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to sit up to find out what Even’s doing.

Fuck. What if any of the others are awake as well?

Mind racing, he tries to will his dick into softening. Into calming down enough to at least not wake the others with his laboured, almost wheezing breaths.

More than half an hour must have passed when he finally senses his brain starting to unwind, thoughts softening at the edges. He’s not exactly relaxed yet, but at least he dares to roll over on his back.

He really, really needs to get a grip. What the _fuck_ did he think he was doing? If anyone else would find out what he was about to do, he’d get thrown out of here first thing in the morning.

Not that he’d mind not _ever_ having to pretend to meditate again. Even if Magnus would never let him live it down.

No. The hard part is that he’s not sure he could stand the prospect of not seeing Even again. No matter how incapacitating his presence seems to leave him.

Hell, did he seriously consider jerking off in the middle of a room full of other people? No matter how asleep they were, or, seemed to be?

Two whole days to go. How is he even going to survive this?

Another half hour or so passes before his body succumbs to sleep, his hands folded on top of his sleeping bag.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, the fifth day is especially designed to drive Isak out of his mind once and for all.

A _walking meditation,_  according to the sign posted by the door. Hiking in silence along the paths of the forest. Together. All six of them.

They’re supposed to forget everything outside of this forest, to focus on the nature around them. To drink it in, to concentrate. To find inspiration in the colours of autumn, of the birds chirping in the canopy above their heads. The sun is hiding today, low dark clouds moving swiftly above the treetops, grey shades shifting behind the yellow leaves.

And, if this week’s about forgetting everything in the world, leaving it behind and stepping into a new reality? Then Isak is nailing the whole retreat thing this very second.

Has been for quite a while now, actually.

Right now, there’s not much that Isak can focus on besides Even.

Not only due to his brain being  void of everything but the sounds of Even’s laboured breathing. Of the gleam of Even’s eyes in the pale light. Of the sight of his slender body rising from the lake.

It’s also because Even is walking right in front of him.

Isak is last in line, the others climbing the path winding up a slope, lake to their left, a ridge rising on their right. A large, old oak tree stands in the middle of the path, splitting it in two for a few metres, diverging to come back together again.

The path is so narrow that they have to walk in single file, Isak having an unperturbed view of Even’s backside all the way. His long legs step without effort over roots and stones, hands swinging by his sides. Back leaning  forward a little when the path starts climbing up the slope.

A branch of yellowing birch leaves hangs low from the left, and Even’s hand comes up to brush it away to the side. His long fingers hold on to it to not let it spring back and hit Isak in the face. As Isak comes up behind him, Even doesn’t let go of the branch, but instead turns around and stops, and Isak almost stumbles into him.

He regains his footing before he does, though. Even looks down at him, a small smile playing in the corner of his mouth as he moves his hand to let Isak grab hold of the branch.

Their fingertips brush, a mirroring of yesterday’s t dinner when they passed the bowls to each other, but Even doesn’t retreat his hand this time. Instead, he lets it linger. The pads of his fingers brush over Isak’s fingernails, stopping for a second.

And then, just like that, Even lets go. Turns around to follow the others, leaving Isak behind. Dumbstruck, silent, and questioning everything.

What the _hell_ is this.

Is this some kind of half-way flirting that he’s unfamiliar with? Is it commonplace to touch each other like this at these kinds of events? A way of silent communication when they’re not allowed to talk?

It would have been easy to miss. Just a brush of fingertips, and it could perhaps be written off as accidental – but even over the smallest of touches, the weight of last night lies heavy.

Now, with a little distance, he’s almost starting to wonder if he only imagined the whole thing.

Did Even look at him like _that_ as they lay there? As if he saw what Isak’s hand was up to, down in the confines of his sleeping bag? As if - as if he _liked_ it?

If he could only guess what Isak was thinking in that very moment.

If Even only knew that the only images flashing behind Isak’s eyelids had been Even’s body, Even’s eyes, the fantasy of Even’s voice and how it would sound in his ear.

And there’s that tug again in his lower belly, forcing his eyes half-closed and making him stop in his tracks for a moment. Focusing on to remember how to breathe.

When he looks up again, all the others, including Even, are out of sight.

Well. It’s not like he took a very active part in the meditation session anyway.

A rustle of leaves above him makes him look up. The sky has grown darker, and as he turns his head to look out over the lake, a cold, wet drop hits the tip of his nose with an audible splash.

This day just keeps getting better.

He’s still a long way from the house, so there’s no use in running. Sighing, he starts to walk, not even daring to hope that the rain will wash away the thoughts churning in his head.

When he’s halfway there, the rain is still hanging in the clouds above, but threatening to fall any minute.

And, as someone with his luck could expect, it breaks loose just as he spots the house a couple of hundred meters ahead. One second, it’s only a tiny drip; the next, the sky is open, and by the time he reaches the front door, he’s soaked to the bone.

Standing under the roof of the front porch, there’s a puddle starting to form around his feet. His wet hair lies plastered to his forehead, and the cold is starting to creep in under his t-shirt, sending shivers down to his toes as he steps inside.

Dark footprints follow in his wake as he shuffles over to his duffel bag to dig up some dry clothes. The wet squelch of his soaked-through socks cuts through he silence, making the others turn their heads.

All of them seem to have managed to avoid the rain. Or else, they were so far ahead that they already had time to get changed. Everyone is here; Magnus sitting in the windowsill, gazing out in the direction of the lake. The hippie girls huddled in a corner, hugging each other with dopey grins on their faces. Peter is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, and Henriette is performing some sort of silent dance over by the other window, eyes closed, moving to an unheard rhythm.

The only one not visible is Even, and that’s probably just as well. Isak can’t imagine that he makes a very attractive sight right now; clothes clinging to his bony frame and his dirty feet, hair soaked and flattened down, his teeth chattering from cold.

He definitely needs to wash, but there’s no way in hell anybody could force him into the lake right now. As he scrambles up a dry, clean t-shirt, pants and a towel from his bag, the only thing on his mind is the warm shower waiting for him further down the hall.

The entrance to the showers is through a door from a narrow side corridor, completely deserted and quiet. It’s not until he’s inside the shower room, turns a corner and sees the green mosaic tiles on the wall ahead, that he notices the sudden silence.

As if a running tap has just been turned off.

And then, he sees the towel hanging on the wall.

There’s somebody else in here. As far as he knows, there’s only one person it could be.

Frozen in place, the damp floor tiles are cold under his feet as he turns his head to see a naked Even emerge from the cubicle by the far wall.

He’s forced to stand and watch, unmoving and helpless, as Even steps out onto the floor, turning to fetch his towel on the hanger behind Isak’s back. And then, Even spots him.

Time stops.

His mouth falls open and then closes again, almost as if he’s about to apologize, but that’s the only part of Even that moves. Like Isak, he’s not moving.

The sight of Even’s naked body up close is much more intense than when Isak saw him swimming in the lake. Like then, he’s covered in water droplets, shoulders shining in the fluorescent  light from above. Water trickling from his soaked-through hair, winding trails along the long expanse of his neck and over his chest, down to his nipples and the hard planes of his stomach.

And oh, how Isak wants to look even further down, down below, to what he hasn’t seen before –  but he can’t, he _mustn’t._ For a moment, he considers using his hands to hold his head up, preventing himself from doing something he might regret. But he manages to force his gaze up to Even’s face again.

How many times haven’t they done this, now, since they came here? Staring at each other like this, unwavering, without a chance for Isak to know what it means? For him to know if Even has been thinking even remotely the same things about him?

Maybe, this time, he’ll finally be able to find out.

Even’s eyes are as blue as ever, but Isak can swear his pupils are beginning to dilate, black starting to take over at the edges. His mouth opens again, ever so slightly, and isn’t he breathing a little faster now?

No matter the struggle Isak’s had to guess how Even feels about him, there’s no mistaking this. The sight of Even’s slowly filling dick, half-hard already, rising upwards under Isak’s gaze, tells him more than any words.

However difficult it is to tear his eyes away, he looks up at Even’s face again, eyes burning blue and black and boring into his own, and that’s when he gets it.

Even doesn’t know how Isak feels about this, either.

What if Even is mortified right now? Afraid that Isak will find this awkward, gross, offensive even?

When it couldn’t be further from the truth?

There’s no way he can’t let Even know how this affects him, too.

Well, he’s going to have to take a chance with the unsolicited nature of what he’s about to do.

He licks his lips, and with one final look at Even’s now fully hard dick, standing against his stomach, he takes a step forward.

Even doesn’t move an inch, only breathes with more effort by the second, arms hanging by his sides.

One more step, and if Isak would take another one and move his hand forward a mere inch, his fingers would brush along the length of Even’s dick. If he’d be allowed to, that is. Would he be?

He looks up again, to see if the answer can be found on Even’s face. And as far as he can tell, it does. Even’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes half-open, heavy-lidded – and when he blinks, he stretches out his tongue and licks his lips. Like an invitation.

A deep breath, and Isak takes the final step, closing the distance, eyes on Even’s the whole time, and reaches out his hand.

The feeling of Even’s hard dick underneath his fingers is even better than he imagined. The head soft as silk underneath his thumb, but the whole length of him is hard and wet, water mixing with the pearls of precome forming at the tip.

Isak doesn’t dare look down at it, not yet – he keeps his stare fastened on Even’s, needs to make sure that he’s with him in this, that’s it’s okay.

And there’s nothing in Even’s eyes to tell him otherwise. He’s panting now, his stare black. Eyelids heavier by the second as Isak start to move his thumb across the head of his dick, marvelling at the evidence of how much he affects Even as well.

As Isak starts moving his palm up and down, slow at first, he can see Even’s hands moving up, as if looking for purchase, something to keep him steady. He puts a hand to Even’s shoulder, guiding him backwards to make him lean against the wall.

A shudder runs through Even as his back aligns with the bare tiled wall. Then his shoulders slump again, and his head falls back.

Even's skin is pale in the bright fluorescent light from above, and still so wet. It’s impossible to tell if it’s only from the shower, or if sweat is mingling with the droplets all over his upper body. He’s breathing with effort now, chest heaving, eyelids closing as Isak continues to slide his hand up and down, faster, more sure.

With Even’s eyes shut, Isak dares let his gaze fall lower. Down Even’s perfect chest, pausing at his hard, dark nipples, following the water down to his navel. And then, to finally land on his dick.

It’s perfect. Seeing it with his own eyes is so much better than he could have ever imagined. Even if he’s able to appreciate another guy’s dick, it’s not like he ever thought of one as _beautiful_ before. But Even’s is. It’s kind of slim, and on the right side of long, just like Even, and it fits so perfectly in his hand.

Like it's made for this. For _him._

He lets his hand grip a little tighter. As he does, there’s a sharp intake of breath, almost bordering on a strangled moan. He looks up at Even’s face again, and what he sees there is enough to blow his mind.

Even’s mouth is hanging open, head leaned back against the wall, and his shoulders are lifting with every quick breath.

Isak speeds his hand up, and as he does, there’s a sharp clatter of metal coming from the other side of the wall.

Even’s eyes fly open, and Isak’s hand stops right away. They stare at each other in utter silence, and it’s obvious that Even is thinking the same thing as he is.

That anyone who walks by in the corridor outside can hear everything – _everything_ – happening in here. The window-like openings up by the ceiling have no glass to cover any noise echoing up between the tiles.

Neither of them move, or breathe.

Finally, a gentle clinking of glass and metal indicates that whoever dropped something on the other side picks it up again. Then, the clinking sounds retreat down the corridor.

They shouldn’t be doing this. Not here, not now. Possibly not at all.

But, right now, Isak has no desire whatsoever to listen to the reasonable voice inside his head.

His hand stays still, but he hasn’t loosened his grip. They watch each other in silence for a moment or two, an unspoken question between them, until Even finally nods.

The sharp intake of breath slipping out of him as Isak moves his hand down again cuts through the air like a knife.

And Isak has to admit that there’s something thrilling to it. Knowing that anyone could walk by outside, without a clue about what’s going on. Having no idea that Even’s slumped against the wall, wet and desperate and naked, with his dick in Isak’s hand.

Even’s eyes are open now, and they’re focused on nothing but  Isak. His arms hang still at his sides, hands fisted, moving up and down ever so slightly along with his breaths.

His gaze follows along Isak’s upper arm, the muscles working there, and then further down, to fall upon Isak’s hand, wrapped around his dick. Isak can’t help but look down himself. Together, they watch the head of Even’s dick appear and disappear with every move of Isak’s wrist.

It seems to do something to Even, because he starts to move his hips, meeting Isak halfway. It doesn’t take long until he’s flattened his palms against the wall for leverage and starts thrusting his dick up into Isak’s hand. It’s obvious that he’s getting closer now, breathing turning erratic, arms shaking.

And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he flings an arm up around Isak’s shoulder, buries his face in the crook of his neck, and starts coming. All over Isak’s hand, over his own stomach, fucking himself through it. Isak just stands there and holds on, letting Even set the pace.

Then, Even stills, heavy breaths against the side of Isak’s neck, standing there, not moving. He’s starting to dry, the hair on the side of his head curling up, lighter at the ends.

But Isak wants to see his face, to check in with him. He still has one hand around Even’s dick, coated with come. He lifts the other, lets it card through Even’s still-damp hair, lifting his head up to make him look him in the eyes.

No matter how much he’s admired Even’s face before, this is even more breathtaking. Even’s eyes are half-closed, pupils wide, hair a mess on top of his head, strands sticking out to all sides. His cheeks are a dark pink, almost red, making the whites of his eyes almost gleam in contrast.

And his mouth. His perfect, full lips, slightly parted, revealing those perfect, sharp white teeth, the tip of his tongue only visible in the shadows behind them.

Suddenly, it hits him.

How is it even possible that he hasn’t even _kissed_ Even yet?

Almost like Even reads his mind, he tilts his head a little to the side as Isak himself does the same.

And at last, they both lean forward to let their lips meet.

It’s perfect. Everything about this kiss is, in its imperfection – Even, damp and sweaty, on shaking legs. Isak, unwashed and fully clothed, feet dirty and still sock-clad, hand around Even’s softening dick, full of sticky come. Even’s lips are soft, so soft, and even his goddamn _tongue_ is perfect where it swipes across Isak’s lower lip, teasing his front teeth, licking along his own tongue.

A sigh escapes Isak, and Even swallows it down, covering his mouth with his own, drawing himself closer as he does.

It makes the back of Isak’s hand press back against his crotch. Suddenly, he remembers his own need. In all honesty, he's not given it a thought since he came in here. He’s been too focused on Even, on seeing him standing here, taking what Isak gave him. On his ragged breathing, the sensation of Even’s hard dick moving in his palm.

Even pulls him in again, pressing them together. Isak can’t help the moan that spills out against Even’s tongue as his hard dick rubs against Even’s hipbone.

At that, Even lets go of his mouth, but not of his body. Instead, his fingers find the hem of Isak’s t-shirt at his lower back, pulling it up. Isak isn’t slow to follow, lifting his arms to let Even wring it over his head.

As Even throws the damp, sweaty t-shirt to the side, Isak turns his head so that his nose comes level with his own armpit. A huge mistake, seeing that he hasn’t showered in five days.

Suddenly, he starts to feel self-conscious. He’s not turned on enough not to notice that he actually _smells,_  and his feet must be the grossest thing on this earth.

With Even standing clean, showered and hot and perfect right in front of him.

He should just get out before anyone comes in here. Forget that this whole thing happened. Leave Even be and save his boner for tomorrow, when he finally gets home. Let this become a dream-like memory and nothing more.

But as he takes a small step backwards, Even follows. Lifts a hand to his cheek, and the other to his wrist – not too tight, but firm.

Like he doesn’t want him to go.

And then, Even smiles and jerks his head to the side, indicating that he should step into the shower cubicle next to them.

Isak licks his lips. Should he really –

And then Even _winks,_ and his face splits into a wide grin as he slips a hand down Isak’s side to try to pull at his pants.

And Isak lets his last defences fall, crumble away with the happy smile on Even’s face.

How could he find it in him to deny this man anything?

So, when Even steps closer again and opens the button of his pants with careful, nimble fingers, and then hooks his thumbs at the top of his boxers, pushing them down enough that Isak can step out of them and into the shower, he doesn’t resist. He lifts his feet up one by one to take off his socks. And then Isak stands there, naked at last, as Even turns on the shower again to let the warm water wash over them both.

Even grabs the bottle of shower gel from the shelf by the faucet, and lets his hands run over Isak’s back, up and down along his spine. Washing him clean, working up a lather around his shoulders and under his arms. Stroking his sides up and down, following every movement of his hands with his gaze.

More shower gel, and this time, Even’s hands are in his hair, moving around in circles. And god, Isak has never felt something like this before. Getting his hair washed, in absolute silence, tender and gentle and with Even’s eyes on him the whole time. He almost doesn’t want to close his eyes as the water starts running into his forehead. Doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

Suddenly, Even’s fingers are in his ears, following every line and crevice, up and down, and it’s so unexpected that Isak can’t help but laugh. It comes out as more of a hoarse giggle than anything, voice unused for days.

Then Even’s lips are on his, and he feels his responding chuckle more than he hears it.

They kiss again, and this time it’s slower: gentle, soft.

And Isak realizes: this is Even calming him down, showing him that what they just did was okay. That Even liked it. That he wants him to feel it, too. And that he’s waiting for permission to give it to him.

It makes him open his mouth a little, letting his tongue meet Even’s once more. Running his hands down his back, as a reassurance.

And immediately, Even catches on; pulls him closer, bare chests sliding against each other. Then his hands travel lower down, pressing them flush together all the way.

And okay, maybe Isak was a bit out of it for a little while before, but now, there can be no doubt. Even must feel how hard Isak is against his lower belly, must recognize what his presence does to him.

A quick kiss to his lips, and Even turns him around to face the wall, stroking his back with one hand to get more shower gel with the other. Isak has no idea what Even is planning – will he just keep washing him, or what?

Even’s soapy hands glide down his sides, over his hips, down to the front of his thighs, and then up. Isak’s toes curl in anticipation as Even starts washing his groin, rubs the lather into the coarse hair between his legs. He doesn’t touch Isak’s dick, though – just washes everything around it, fingertips stroking along the side of his balls. Not teasing, really – more tender. But it’s enough to make Isak start to feel impatient.

He bites his lip, wondering how he could show Even that he wants him to get a move on.

That is, if he wants him to.

Maybe he just wants to stand here and get taken care of for the rest of the afternoon. To draw this moment out as long as possible and forget that they have to leave tomorrow. That after this, they’ll probably never see each other again.

That particular thought isn’t anything he’d like to entertain right now, though. He’s just about to reach a hand down to put it around Even’s and move it to his own dick to make himself forget, when Even surprises him by getting down on his knees and run his hands down his calves, all the way down to his feet.

Confused, he feels Even grab his ankle and pull to make him lift it – and then, slowly, carefully,  Even starts washing his feet. Sliding his fingers between his toes, inwards, outwards, so tender that it tugs at Isak’s heart. Filling him with something he doesn’t know where to place.

He’s never had his _feet_ washed by somebody else before, and he had no idea that it would feel like this. The care with which Even washes him clean feels like it’s only for Isak’s benefit – and he can only stand here and comply. Letting his chest fill up with the foreign feeling of belonging to somebody else, if only for a little while.

His foot slides a little against the tiled floor as Even puts it down. He leans into Isak’s leg to hold him in place as he lifts his other foot, washing it just as thoroughly as he did with the other one.

Then, slowly, Even rises. Hands following the coarse hairs on his calves, his knees, and then around to the insides of his thighs. Chills run down his legs and up into his stomach as Even’s hands come further up, up between his ass cheeks.

Even stops there for a little while, and stands up again to place a kiss to his shoulder. Looking into his eyes like in silent question, as if he’s asking for permission.

In response, Isak lifts a hand to his shoulder and reaches back, cards his fingers through Evens hair, and turns his head to draw him in for a kiss.

It seems to get the message through, for Even starts moving his hands again. One of them slides back and forth along his crack, the soapy water making it feel so easy, so right. The other hand comes up around him to stroke over his stomach, up his chest, and down again, over the front of his thighs.

And all the while, they kiss, slow and languid like they have all the time in the world. As if this was a lazy Saturday morning in their own home. Like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

How is it possible to feel so cared for by someone you’ve never spoken a single word to? So unlike the fast, straightforward way he got Even off only minutes earlier. But this – this unexpected intimacy serves, somehow, to make him almost weaker in the knees.

The hand between his ass cheeks moves a little firmer now, fingertips grazing along his crack. Every time they stroke over his rim he feels his stomach clench, a little more each time. Even’s other hand keeps stroking his stomach, circles becoming smaller, further down, closing in on where he wants him the most. Anticipation building fast, he has to stop an impatient whine from coming out against Even’s lips. He tries to focus on his breathing instead, on his feet planted to the floor, to the warm water washing over his chest.

And then, Even wraps his hand around his dick, and Isak almost wants to weep with relief. As before, Even is gentle at first, moving his thumb around the head. Like he’s exploring Isak, mapping him out, not aiming for something quick and easy. He’s drawn back from the kiss now, tilted his head down, watching his own hand as it moves.

Almost as if Even is collecting this, saving it up for later.

That thought makes something desperate and bottomless shoot through Isak, like a need for something just out of reach. He can’t help but move his hips a little, into Even’s hand, trying to make him do _something_ to relieve it.

Even smiles against his lips, and thankfully, he gets it – tightens his grip around his dick, starts moving it up and down. After so many days of building tension, the pleasure of it makes Isak a little dizzy. Small black dots dancing on the inside of his eyelids even as they’re closed. He’s surrounded by Even now; held in place by his big hands and his mouth on his lips. The hand on his ass doesn’t move as freely now, just fingers stroking right _there,_ over his rim. Not moving any further inside. That sensation, though, coupled with the faster movements of Even’s hand around his dick is bringing him closer every second.

A sigh escapes him, the running water of the shower enough to swallow the sound. It makes him realize: anyone, _anyone_ could come in here any second and they wouldn't be able to hear it. Even didn’t notice him coming in from the beginning, did he?

It should be too much. All these sensations, and then remembering that they are most definitely putting themselves at real risk of being caught. It shouldn’t turn him on like this, but –

Even twists his hand on a downstroke, and Isak can’t help the sudden, low moan that escapes him. Without thinking, his own hand flies up to cover his mouth – and god, this makes it even better. As if of their own volition, his hips throws themselves forward, making him fuck up into Even’s hand. And it’s so overwhelming l that he does it again, and again.

Even is pressing his smile against his upper arm now. The tip of his tongue against the back of Isak’s shoulder, and then, he starts to suck a bruise into the skin there.

And that’s what finally makes him tip over the edge.

The fingers on his ass, the hand over his mouth, the slight pain at the back of his shoulder – with one final thrust of his hips, he comes. Even works him through it, kissing the side of his neck, licking it, soothing.

When he stills, Even removes his hands, sliding them up around him, embracing him. And then, they stand there for a little while. A simple hug, standing under the running water of the shower, leaning into each other.

Normally, after sex with someone – especially if it’s someone he doesn’t know – Isak doesn’t linger too much. Of course, they’ll talk for a bit, stay in the post-sex bliss for a short while – but often, it becomes awkward soon enough.

This, though. Even if they’re not even able to talk, he doesn’t want to go.

The logical part of his brain starts, however, to insist. The water has been running for quite a while – for how long, he cannot say – and soon somebody is bound to come in and look if there’s a leak, or something.

He turns in Even’s arms, as if trying to convey that they should get a move on, when he realizes that he hasn’t actually hasn’t seen his face ever since they got in the shower. What he sees when he looks up, though, gives a sharp tug at his heart.

Even looks so _happy._ His eyes are shut, mouth closed in a sated smile, and his facial expression is more serene than Isak's seen in any meditation session so far.

Then, Even opens his eyes, looks at him, lets his gaze linger. There’s something in there that Isak can’t read: although he seems happy, he also looks a little wary.

Mostly, though, the look on his face is fond.

Even grabs the shower gel, then starts to wash his hands with an almost bashful grin. Then, with a sigh, he reaches up and turns the shower off.

The silence that follows is sudden, almost palpable.

Even goes to grab his towel from the hanger, but he doesn’t wrap it around himself. Instead, he comes up to Isak, lifts it and starts drying his hair. He wipes his shoulders slowly, and his back, takes care of him all the way before he starts to dry himself.

It’s almost enough to make Isak want to cry.

They dress in silence, casting glances at each other, smiling, a little shy. Which is a little weird considering what they just did.

When they’re clothed, Even motions for him to step outside, while he himself remains slouched against the wall. Giving Isak an easy way out.

As he’s about to exit, Isak turns back. Has to take one final look at Even.

He stands still, and hasn’t taken his eyes off Isak the whole time. Just looks at him, eyes still fond, and so blue.

With a final, tentative smile, Isak steps out into the corridor and out of his sight.

As he enters the common room, it’s like nothing happened. Everyone’s still in more or less the same position, in their own worlds, like nothing changed at all.

Like Isak’s whole world wasn’t just tipped off its axis.

Sitting down in the windowsill, overlooking the room, it’s almost difficult to believe it happened. As if the smell of Even’s shower gel on him, the slight weakness in his legs and the sting on the back of his left shoulder are only remnants of a dream.

Until Even walks in at the other end of the room, smiling to himself. Looking down on the floor, then up at Isak, eyes still wearing that fond, warm expression from minutes earlier.

A sense of happiness coupled with a hopeless longing shoots through Isak’s whole being at the sight.

He knows that in just a few days, this will feel like exactly that: a dream. Memories of something he can carry home to Oslo, keep in the back of his head, take out to pick at and revel in when he wants to.

There’s nothing more to it.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard to make himself believe it, though, as they sit down for dinner a while later. As usual, he’s sat opposite of Even, but this time, none of them shy away as their legs touch. Instead, Even has an ankle hooked around his own under the table, away from sight, toes stroking along the back of his calf.

Now and then, he looks up at Isak, a secretive smile on his face, before he turns away again.

How can he act so casual about this? Like this is easy, uncomplicated, just for fun?

And then it hits him. It probably is for Even. It should be for him, too.

He doesn’t _know_ him. It’s not like they have some sort of… knowledge about each other on a personal level now because they happened to get each other off in the shower earlier. By accident or whatever.

But the care, the tenderness with which Even treated him doesn’t leave him in peace. He wants to be touched like that. Seen like that.

Again.

And there’s no use in denying that he wants Even to do it.

The feeling lingers as they, soon after, lie down to sleep for the final time. Like the other nights, most of the others seem to drift away right away. Tonight, though, Isak doesn’t even bother to pretend that he’s going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon.

Memories of the afternoon keep intruding into his head, and there’s no chance of even trying to stop them from crashing in. Even’s breathing, heavy in his ear. His big hands, surrounding him, taking care of him. His naked body, flushed close to him under the warm water. The look on his face as he came all over Isak’s hand, giving himself over to him.

More than turning him on, it’s unsettling, makes him long for Even, wanting him to touch him again.

He turns his head, looking over towards him. And to be fair – what did he expect?

Of course, Even lies there with his gaze fastened on him. Eyes open, shining.

Isak looks back. For the longest time, they lie there, watching each other, none of them turning away.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, he must have fallen asleep at some point. Not that he remembers it – but now, suddenly, there’s light on the other side of his eyelids. People starting to move all around, scattered fragments of dreams floating away as he opens his eyes.

Before he knows it, they’ve finished breakfast. And after a short meditation in the common room, he’s standing over by the window, packing his bag. He folds the few clothes he brought, flattening every crease with his hand, glancing over at Even to his left. Allows himself to look for the final few minutes he’s got.

Even is leaning over his duffel bag, pulling the zipper closed, before hefting the bag over his shoulder. He looks up, as if he knows Isak’s eyes are on him, a tentative smile spreading over his lips.

As he rises to his full height, he starts to walk over to Isak.

And Isak isn’t sure he can take it. Part of him wants to push Even away, to have this goodbye over and done with already. And, of course, another part wants Even to give him a proper farewell. Sudden, stupid fragments of a fairytale ending flash before him, of kisses and promises on the front porch.

He still hasn’t decided if he should just grab his bag and go, get away from Even and never look back, when a sudden, unexpected sound shoots through the silence.

The sound of a human voice.

“So, everybody who has been here this week,” Shakti says from where he’s standing at the entrance. “My sincerest thanks. Thanks for being here, for giving each other this week. For sharing this experience together. I hope you’ve been able to receive, as well as give, the peace and comfort of this unique environment.”

Isak shifts his feet.

“With that said,” Shakti continues, “most of you will head for the southbound train in a couple of hours, but I’m taking those of you who are going to Oslo first.” He nods at Magnus, and then in Isak’s direction.

Heart heavy, Isak bends down to lift his bag, but when he rises to take one final look at Even, he’s already a few steps ahead.

Even stops, and turns around to look at him. And then, he smiles. That beautiful, wide smile that spreads all over his face, making his eyes crinkle and glitter.

“Are you coming?”

His voice. It’s almost even better than Isak imagined. Deep and warm and full of laughter, like it holds a promise and a calm at the same time.

Isak clears his throat, unsure of how his own voice will sound after so many days of no use. “Are – do you live in Oslo, too?”

It comes out hoarse, a little broken.

“Yeah. Just like you.” Even smiles again.

“What?”

Even shrugs his shoulders. “Shakti told me. On our way here?”

Isak can’t seem to move, brain too busy adding it up to be able to walk.

Even knew the whole time. Knew they’d have more time together. Knew they’d be sitting in the same car, on the same train, homebound to the same city.

That if they’d want to, they’d be able to see each other again.

And the fondness, the care of how he treated Isak yesterday suddenly holds a new meaning. A tentative hope.

“Yeah.” Isak exhales, daring a step forward, towards Even. “Yeah.”

He looks up, and Even extends his arm, coming up to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in a one-armed hug as they start walking towards the exit.

“Come on, let’s not miss the train,” Even says, and then he bends his neck, and puts his nose against Isak's forehead to whisper into his hair. “I can’t wait to take you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://www.irazor.tumblr.com) \- I'm irazor there. <3


End file.
